


And i will follow you, into the dark

by mtothedestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5fandoms, Angel Castiel, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Crying, Drunk Dean, Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror, Feels, Fic War, Ficlet, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Second Person, Sad Dean, Season/Series 09, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:03:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtothedestiel/pseuds/mtothedestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel returns to the bunker after the events of Holy Terror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And i will follow you, into the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this was a tumblr prompt I recieved from weirdconnections. You can check me out at 5fandoms.tumblr.com if you're interested, but enjoy this sad but hopeful little ficlet!

You return to the bunker and you are iron in your resolve.  There is a crunch of glass under your feet, the remains of a shattered tumbler of whiskey.  More than one.  You take note of a few stray droplets of blood, and you think perhaps this is right.  There should be a consequence, a punishment, that goes with the numbing mercy of alcohol.

Kevin Tran is dead and you are supposed to be angry. 

Sam Winchester has been taken and you are supposed to be unforgiving.

Dean Winchester is broken and at first sight you forget it all.

He is intoxicated; there is no question about it.  However, it is not like the stumbling, belligerent men you were occasionally asked by Nora, in quiet tones, to escort from the gas station.  Unlike those strangers, there is no anger in Dean.  This is a child.  Despite the lined face and shadowed eyes that crumple in relief as your presence is noticed.  Despite the tall frame that overwhelms you in its embrace.  Despite the unkempt stubble that scratches your throat even as tears silently stain your jacket. 

 _I tried, I tried, I tried_ , he weeps into your shirt, voice cracked and rough.         

 _You failed,_ you respond, perhaps callously, _but I am here regardless._

Dean freezes, the cotton of your shirt creasing in his vice grip as he looks to you in shock. 

 _Will you allow me to stay?_ You ask.  Despite all wisdom, you pray the answer is yes.  With all of your immortal devotion, with the memory of your foolish and passionate humanity, you pray to be allowed; to the last screaming physical agony and the final jagged shattering of your Grace, to remain with Dean.

A shaking breath and a silent nod are all the answer Dean can give.  Words are too dangerous, too volatile against Dean’s tenuous definitions of masculinity, of strength.  But the slide of his wide palms down your spine is pleading.  The press of his brow against yours is desperate.

The circle of your arms around Dean’s ribcage can’t bring back Kevin Tran.  A soft exhale against his cheek can’t liberate Sam. 

The press of your lips can offer no absolution of his sins.  You can only promise to follow him to the Pit when he pays for them.


End file.
